


Check and Mating Season

by Fianna_Ai



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Aquinea is a soccer mom but with ransom notes, Cullen is a cute sausage, Cullen wants all the pups, Dorian and his family, Fae Magic, Fae-married, Fantasy Biology, Halward Pavus' A+ Parenting, Light breeding kink, M/M, Mating Season, Modern AU, Modern Thedas, Mpreg, Selkies, alternating pov, but don't we all, cullrian - Freeform, dubcon for mating season hormones?, fae, least alcoholic Dorian but some mentions, modern with magic, sometimes that tag is not sarcastic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-09
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-15 16:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29936079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fianna_Ai/pseuds/Fianna_Ai
Summary: "I tried telling my parents you are the only woman I would ever consent to marry, but for some reason they didn’t go for it.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head mournfully. “The wedding to Livia, therefore, marches onward.”“At least you know quality,” Maevaris quirked an affectionate grin at him.---This time, Dorian is all in - he's determined to get it right with his family, and all his chips are on the table. He means to keep his promises, but a sweet song makes him forget to be angry for once. Before he knows it, he has linked himself to a legacy older than history, and agreed to a pact that cuts through to the very bones of the world. Now if only his Father can be convinced that breaking a promise to a Fae is never wise, and never worth the consequence.Cullen thought he was young enough not to worry about history, consequence, or his people's dwindling legacy - but he knows he flew too close to the sun when he loses the one thing his kind can never afford to lose. Will the beautifulaltuswith the sad eyes give him everything he didn't realize he wanted, or will it truly be impossible for a peacock and a seal to nest together?
Relationships: Dorian Pavus/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 18
Kudos: 21





	Check and Mating Season

**Author's Note:**

> If the tags didn't scare you away, I'm happy to have you! Please expect more as the story goes along! This is the story that I thought would be 10k. ~~Hahahahahaha it's not~~  
>  I'm sorry for people who were waiting on other things, um... they just got moved down the print queue a bit.
> 
> Inspirations and credits:  
> The prompt: [The Lovely Original Post](https://www.pinterest.com/pin/676806650225658775/)  
> The Awesome Discord: [The Herald's Rest](https://discord.gg/Wesua75M7x), a Cullrian-centric Discord with a group of creative and positive folks who put up with a lot of nonsense including intellectual mpreg discussions and a lot of pictures of seals.  
> The Editor: [Calcitron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calcitron/pseuds/Calcitron), (and also an excellent writer) who put up with 150% more seals than anyone else, and also shared 250% more childbirth and childrearing factoids, and furthermore made this story sound a lot less stupid ~~even when I thwarted every effort by literally falling asleep whilst writing it~~.  
> The Special Mentions: [Jellysharkbat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jellysharkbat/pseuds/jellysharkbat) for contributing "Husband~❤" (sometimes it's the little things) and many other delicious prompts; [Gangsterbee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gangsterbee) You know what for ]:) ; [Gravitycomplex](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gravitycomplex) Happy sleepy baby times and breeding kink!  
> The Animal: Seals. I mean... whenever I thought I couldn't anymore... pictures of baby seals said that I could.

“Oh - oh, now I’m picking fur out of my teeth.”

“You are _not_ , Dorian, you _brat_ ,” the blonde-haired magister nudged him with her foot. This time of the morning, her coffee was confined to an orbit of arm’s length, and her hair was still in curlers, silky housecoat shut primly against the humid morning haze. Dorian had the privilege of being one of very, _very_ few men privileged to see her in such a state, let alone with no padding under her loungewear. He rolled over on her lounging couch like the creatures they now discussed.

“Mae, of all the things. I know you throw the most delightful shindigs, and ever so tasteful, but… a _seal-viewing_ party?” He mused doubtfully aloud, watching the patterns of the palm fronds dappling the light on her shining floor from the open double doors. “Every _altus_ and _alta_ in Minrathous has seen a seal at some point or another. How will you make this notable?”

Reproachfully, Maevaris Tilani pursed her lips at him. “You’ve seen them in _captivity_ , my dear,” she remarked, “...as have most of our so-called peers. This is an entirely different thing. It’s _different!_ ” Sifting through the pile of fur coats, capelets, and muffs she had ordered for party guests, his friend divided up her spoils and glanced at him as he scored a tangerine with his fingernail to peel. “Tevinter doesn’t allow slavery any longer, nor should we allow the deplorable conditions at the Minrathous Central Zoo.”

“Oh, a charity thing,” he nodded, relieved to have some understanding at last. “You could just buy the zoo, you know.”

“And all the other zoos in Tevinter?” Raising an eyebrow, she gestured to her assistant to come take the coats, hanging them up on the rolling rack in the corner of the room. The young _soporata_ quickly arranged them as specified by color and fur type. “Admit it, you’ve never seen them in the wild. They return to breed in these waters during this season, and they are clever and fun to watch - the conservation society has trackers and _swears_ they will be here today. Besides - the magisters will eat it up! Ice magic and barbaric southern furs in Bloomingtide?”

“Then the coat goes in the closet until Maker knows,” Dorian added, pushing a wedge of citrus past his lips. Truthfully, he knew he ought not antagonize her. “I’m sorry, _carissima_ ; I should not take my bad mood out on you. It isn’t _your_ fault. I tried telling my parents you are the only woman I would ever consent to marry, but for some reason they didn’t go for it.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head mournfully. “The wedding, therefore, marches onward.”

“At least you know quality,” she quirked an affectionate grin at him. “Now, go get me the box on the shelf and bring it here.” He did so and plopped himself down on the one-armed couch she had appropriated, though it meant he sat upon the tail of her silken housecoat. It was hand dyed and emblazoned with long-legged cranes - a private joke between them - and he had given it to her three years ago. He had seen her in it often enough to know she wore it out of enjoyment rather than obligation, and it was one of many small gestures that warmed his heart. “I had better not find this at the back of _your_ closet, my dear, because it cost a fortune.”

So saying, she opened the box and presented him with a handsome short cloak, trimmed in black ermine, over a honey-tan vicuna wool which must actually have cost as much as a respectable _domus_ in Old Minrathous. With a pleased exclamation, he checked his hands for cleanliness before running them over the fabric. “You are a beautiful, wonderful _doll_ , Mae. Thank you so much. I’ll wear it with pride tonight.”

Twilight found him adjusting the gold cloak pin, shaped like the family crest and set with aquamarines, to fix the cloak around his shoulders, though it was still nigh-on sweltering outside. Twisting his moustache into place, he turned and whirled out one of the three sets of Orlesian-style double doors, which were flung wide open, and was blessedly hit with the cool aura of ice magic from the small battalion of apprentice enchanters Mae had hired to host the event at the secluded resort.

“Antonius!” he called, latching onto a familiar face. “Fancy you all the way out here at Mae’s private event,” he shook hands with the man, made magister quite young when his mother perished in a duel, and gave his wife an ornate bow and kiss to the back of one gloved hand. “This must be the darling wife I have heard so much about… Linnea, was it?”

The rosy-cheeked woman was doing her utmost not to sweat in the lingering heat of the day. “What a pleasure to make your acquaintance - _altus_ Dorian Pavus, is it not?”

“Oh, my reputation precedes me; how unfortunate.”

“A flock of starlings have informed me you’ll soon be saddled with a wife of your own,” Antonius smiled at him, but it wasn’t the mean sort of smile most graced him with. It was almost a gentle grimace. “Well… couldn’t worm out of it forever, could you.”

Dorian sniffed, standing ever tall and proud against the weight of _rumor_. “I’ll thank you not to associate me with a _worm_ , _amicus_.” If he couldn’t quite force himself to smile politely just yet, perhaps a joke would help bridge the gap. “My antics were rather magnificent,” he winked at _alta_ Linnea with a knowing sort of smirk. “I’m sure that flock of starlings undersold me.”

“In fact, they did not; I was quite impressed,” the dark-skinned magister shared a smile with his wife. It was not a loving one, but it was comradely. Perhaps he could hope for such in time. “However, I truly thought you’d make it to thirty-five and Halward would be half bald. I’m afraid you’ve lost me a fair bit of coin in the betting pool.”

“Now why is this the first I’ve heard of a betting pool?” Dorian demanded indignantly. “Had I known, I could have eked out another few years, just for you! Faked an illness, got lost on safari in Antiva - it would have been terribly creative!” They both laughed and he held out a hand to usher them further into the cold area of the party. Ice crystals crunched underfoot as the servants showed them to a massive, giant balcony which wrapped around the rented resort, with three grand staircases down to the white sand beach. “...I’ll make it up to you with some wine from the family vineyards?”

Antonius and his lovely bride were waylaid by servants wanting to offer them furs for the party. Dorian continued on, working his way across the crowd. A grand table stood at either end of the massive, curving stone balcony, which was really almost more patio at the ends. On each stood a dazzling array of cold desserts and iced treats; each boasted a massive ice sculpture of seals cavorting. Magelight spells were maintained around the patio in complementary colors, and centered on the two ice sculptures. Smaller stations for warm drinks buttressed the tables, and intimate little groupings of chairs and couches, along with low tables, gave partygoers somewhere to rest among all their socializing and wandering.

The very center featured a circular bar with glass displays covered in beautiful and expensive bottles and decanters, and magelight spells flickered up from beneath the glass and under the bar top. Inevitably, this is where Dorian made his way. Throughout, he was gently probed on the absence of his fiancee, and wasn’t it terribly dreadful that Magister Herathinos took Livia with him to his estate in Vyrantium? What a delightful event Mae threw.

Of course, he pretended not to hear the whispers that Livia refused to attend as a result of the imprecations always levied about Dorian’s relationship with Maevaris, who wasn’t a _traditional woman_ at all. Surely that was what the Pavus heir liked about her? He could have what he wanted in bed and they could swap underthings from their shared wardrobes, or whatever malevolent lies this pack of vicious mockingbirds could imagine with their pasty, stodgy, sweaty little minds. _Disgusting._

“Bartender,” he beckoned. “The next thing in my glass had better burn the tissues out of my throat, handsome.” Old habits; hover the hand a little too long, let his eyes narrow a touch, eye contact - oh yes. But these habits were deemed _unacceptable_ and _had to stop_ , according to the patron of his House, and he regretfully drew himself away from the bar after the promised shot, with a larger, more hydrating glass of something much more gentle. The last thing he wanted to do was make an arse of himself on Mae’s night.

She was there, near the center railing, pointing out over the beautiful waters of the cove, which had darkened from an eye-blistering turquoise under the full light of the sun, and was shifting down through a surprisingly clear orange beset with golden crests. Maevaris’ fingers found the small boats holding apprentice and junior enchanters, on hire or loan from the Circle of Minrathous, as well as private apprentices of magisters and other high-ranking patrons. Their magelight spells sparkled above the water like tiny golden suns, brightening the waters.

Carefully, Mae patted her exquisite curls where they tried to tangle with the fur trim of her mantle, and explained to the crowd of curious magisters flocking to see the show that the beach sands were protected from their presence by a spell of silence, as well as illusions, to make the water as comfortable and inviting for the animals as possible. A member of the conservation society stood nearby to advise her on the seals’ progress, and another to shake hands, smile and graciously accept donations to protect Tevinter’s national resources.

Dorian had already been out before the party, perusing the themed decorations and speaking to the conservation society’s volunteers, who told stories about the biology and habits of the seals, as well as the history and mythos of their interaction with people. Now he could see the thaumaturgical illusions they crafted, creating an image of the creatures cavorting, and those from the _soporati_ class handled the technological aspects of live video feeds and high-definition footage.

Eventually, he found himself draping his elbows over the railing, staring at the setting sun and no longer of a mind to socialize with anyone who didn’t approach him first. He was certainly spawning a pack of morose rumors, but he wanted to get drunk in peace - again - though he was refraining. A duel broke out at some point, but it was over something stupid; they were ushered to take it away from the ice sculptures and left to their own devices, outside of a protective barrier cast by the security team. Mae was never one for bloodsports.

As luck would have it, Dorian was one of few _alti_ actually watching the sands when the first signs of activity appeared. A little round… something?... appeared above the waves, surfacing and rolling, and then a single flipper broke the water. “Oh, look!” One of the conservation volunteers mistook him for a fellow enthusiast and pointed out toward the shallow waves near the sand. “They can tell something’s not quite right - they’re very sensitive, you know - but since they can’t see or hear any disturbance, they might come up to the beach!”

As the live camera feeds under the water turned toward them, more guests began to approach the railing. Soon, an entire colony of sleek, bullet-shaped creatures was bobbing atop the waves, squeaking and cooing to one another, their sounds amplified up to the guests. As he watched, chin in hand, the graceful creatures seemed to beckon with their flippers, turning onto their backs or sides, and eventually, washing ashore on the white sands. As the first one was carried in by the tide, he chuffed a helpless little laugh as the round, blubbery thing bounced its way further up the beach, then rolled around onto its side.

“Maker, what a little pudge,” he muttered, but smiled as its companions joined it, long round things that resembled the snakes of Tevinter’s heraldry, had they had occasion to swallow a line of bowling balls. No wonder his friend found them so endearing.

“Some species can easily be twelve feet long,” he was hearing the conservation volunteers speaking to the guests at Maevaris’ urging. “The ones we are seeing now are mostly in the six to eight foot range. The smaller ones are just barely into adulthood - they may not even be mating this year. They tend to be a little less social than sea lions, and will probably split up to feast on krill, fish, crabs, and other things in their individual territories when they leave here. Who knows - we might even see a few mating battles!”

There were cameras on the beach, and so he got to see some hint of the finer features of the glossy, and now sandy, little blimps rolling and hopping and skipping over the sands like a rock skipped over a pond, bumping into their lounging companions. Their fur coats were thin, many with spotted patterns, or marks of past injuries, and they had friendly-looking round clefted lips with elegant whiskers. They had such large eyes, he marvelled; an unnervingly inky blackness which seemed rather harmless against their perpetual smile.

One lighter-colored seal in particular seemed to have suffered a bit; a long, time-whitened scar crossed one side of the upper lip, and the whiskers there grew raggedly for it. Looking unerringly into the camera, he blinked lambent eyes of a startling golden hue as though fully aware he was being observed. It gave Dorian a shiver, and his own gaze traced the image of the scar on its face upon the screen. “Poor thing,” he remarked gently, mostly for his own hearing. “That must have hurt.”

“Are you sizing up your competition for ‘best moustache’ award?” Maevaris put her hand out, and like a well-trained creature himself, Dorian presented his elbow for her magisterial leaning pleasure. “Which one of the lot has your heart gone out to, my lamb?”

“The one with the golden eyes there,” he nodded his head toward the monitor, but the frame was now empty. “Ah, gone now.”

“Golden eyes?” The eager conservation volunteer who had been trailing Mae like a puppy screwed up her dark brows in confusion. “Seals’ eyes are black, ser _altus_.”

“I thought -” he was quite certain that this had not been the case for that particular specimen. Even thinking back with that information, he concluded that they had certainly not been as black as the others’, but for all he knew, it was some sort of disorder. “Must have been a trick of the light.”

As he helped his friend contribute to the illusion of making merry, it seemed that a few late guests were still showing up, men and women still exclaiming over the ice sculptures as though seeing them for the first time, and eagerly clearing servings of seafood. Which was a bit odd, seeing that everyone in attendance would have come to this island specifically for this event, but never put it past someone to have a crisis, lose a shoe, or decide that an hour and a half late was still considered fashionable. Someone was poisoned, though it was quickly cleared up that someone else at the party had done it, and Magister Tilani was not to be held responsible. They’d thought they were presented with a second poisoning, but it turned out to be a previously-undiscovered shellfish allergy.

“Do you think anyone will complain that my event is too tame?” she giggled at Dorian as their paths crossed sometime in the evening, her hosting instincts in fine fettle. He smiled and shook his head. Just as he turned, he found the cute bartender from earlier having a difficult conversation with a tall, blonde-haired man, and he looked to be at his wits’ end.

“This is very bad-tasting,” the man was saying, with an almost plaintive sound to his voice. His fur coat was slung about his shoulders, a light color not too far off from Dorian’s gifted cloak, and he was holding out his glass of alcohol toward the bartender as though expecting it to be defective somehow. “Why would anyone drink this?”

“I’ve often asked myself the same question,” the man behind the bar replied, causing Dorian to hide a smirk reflexively. “And I’m the one who’s supposed to hand it out!”

“Does it _all_ taste that bad?” Fereldan, he had to be, with that accent. From behind, mostly he could see that the man had shortish blonde hair in natural wavy curls. Dorian hid another smile as he approached, just keeping an ear out to ensure no trouble began; perhaps he was a gentle giant, but he was definitely tall and muscular enough to make some trouble, if he’d a mind to. _Just my type_ , he thought ironically.

“I don’t know… what do you like to drink?”

What neither of them had given notice to was the small line forming behind the man’s shoulder. “ _Soporatus,_ ” one of them, a junior magister Dorian didn’t know well, but had seen in the company of a rather vile magister named Danarius in the Publicanium once, landed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “This bartender has a job to do. If you don’t know what you want, go bother someone else.” The hand pushed, propelling the other guest back away from the bar.

Not expecting to be manhandled, the blonde stumbled back, and was pushed again by the other lowlifes flocking behind the magister, causing him to stumble and fall between dodging _laetantia_. The bartender peered after him in some concern, but Dorian caught his eye and raised a hand to make known his intention to see to the man’s well-being himself. Pushing through the line, he helped the man up into a kneeling position. “Are you alright?” Dorian asked, raising his voice slightly. “The manners of some are _terribly uncalled-for_ ,” he announced.

“My-my fur,” the other man stammered out, meeting his eyes briefly in the lowering dark, then looking away and searching the ground. Between all the feet, it could not immediately be seen. “It’s gone!” he sounded so distressed that the sound cut at Dorian’s heart.

“Hey now,” he soothed gently, casting his gaze around for it as well. People were moving around them, but no opening revealed it. “Maevaris would be happy to provide another-”

“ _No!_ ” he keened, practically turning circles to look for it. “I- I must, I need _that fur!_ ”

“I’ll help you search,” Dorian told him firmly. “Those with good manners will give us some space,” he declared, and sent up bright magelight so that they could better search. Bar business adjusted to give them as much berth as possible. “You look that way, I’ll look this way?” he suggested, but the blonde-haired man’s eyes snapped up, assessing him.

Even under this brighter light, he couldn’t tell what color they were, and the man looked as though he’d gone quite pale under his already light skin tone. He had a strong brow and jaw, but most of his face looked youthful. Scratching down the side of his mouth on the right-hand side of his upper lip, however, was a long-healed scar. For a moment, Dorian forgot to think - it gave his visage a rugged sort of aspect, an implied edge, that was actually surprisingly exciting, despite his obvious panic. Apparently, he did not like something about either Dorian’s suggestion or his scrutiny, because his mouth firmed and his brows knit together in a frown. He abruptly went the opposite way of Dorian’s suggestion.

“Oh… well, that’s fine then, I’ll go this way,” he shrugged, and they parted, walking crouched low to the ground. Surprisingly, the fur was not in the immediate area; frowning, Dorian bent and stooped, looking to and fro for the errant garment. Every now and then a startled cry revealed a guest who had been disturbed by the Fereldan man’s search, moving through the crowd. Baffled, the _altus_ stood upright, hands pressed to his back, and looked around. Had a servant picked it up?

Turning to go back toward the bar, he thought to check on the other man’s search. As he did, however, his eyes spotted a dark mass peeking from where it had been kicked beneath an unused part of the bar. Eagerly, he headed straight for it. It looked rather like a flipper, but as he approached, it proved itself to be a sleeve, naturally. He marvelled at the texture of the fur the moment he had it in his hands; it was smoother than actual silk, more like the glide of synthetics - even moreso, how he imagined they would feel if one were looking for the texture through a layer of oil. Yet there was a softness to it as well, almost a velvet sensation, and he shook the fur gently, bundling it neatly into his arms.

With that, he set out to find the missing owner, who had apparently gotten so frantic in his search that he had disappeared entirely. Dorian looked for him high and low, but saw no sign. The balcony was immense, however. If the fur was so important to him, he’d certainly turn up. He dropped a word in the head waiter’s ear, but held onto the fur himself. It seemed to be a coat, he thought, but there was something about the cut of it that he couldn’t quite get his head around.

Safer with him, he thought, so he tucked it under his arm, making himself obvious under the central magelights near the balcony. As he watched, the last of the seals bounced themselves off of the beach and into the water. The mages on the boats began to let their light spells drop. Next, he knew, would be - _ah_ , he stroked the fur and watched the first bloom of fireworks over the water once the seals were safely out of sight. Green, gold, red and of course lyrium blue lit up the sky in showers of pops and sparks.

At long last, he realized he wasn’t alone at the rail. Anyone at the party could see the fireworks, so most had not drifted over. When he realized he was not alone, he turned, and found the anxious-looking man staring at him, eyes darting occasionally down to the fur under his arm like a starving thief to a loaf of bread. He looked so somber and wide-eyed that Dorian could not help but feel gentle toward him. A small sound made it to his ears below the sounds of the party - a tiny whine.

“There you are,” he turned to the handsome man and put on his most charming smile. “I could not find you. I was hoping I would see you before the evening was out.” He pulled the fur from beneath his arm, and the other man’s eyes fastened to it, though he made no move to take it. Dorian frowned, confused. “Is this not the one you were searching for?”

Breathing out a sharp, gut-punched sigh, the other man deflated slightly, but looked him in the eye soberly and nodded once. “Yes, th…” he swallowed. “It’s mine.” Head dipping slowly, he looked down at his feet as though he were actually _disappointed_ to see it. Ashamed.

“Well, I did find it,” he said. “I thought about putting it in lost and found, but I figured that if it was so important to you, it would be a shame if it went missing before you got to it.” Blinking at him, the other man gave all the signs of confusion. “I thought it would be better if I held it - at least I know the handsome owner when I see him,” he smirked.

Raising his head, the golden-haired man watched Dorian as he spoke, then squeezed his eyes shut as if in distress. “Yes, of course,” he replied softly. “As you say.” When he opened his eyes again there was a sheen of liquid; tears in his eyes. In the sudden flare of light painting his silhouette, they were gold. Dorian sucked in a breath, reminded vividly of the piercing, guileless eyes of the seal looking into the camera earlier. With that scar on his lip…

Dizzily, he swore off any further drinks for the rest of the evening. Especially after listening to sad old fairy tales all afternoon.

“Well,” he swallowed, collecting himself. His hand stroked the fur reflexively one last time. “Here you go,” he offered the garment up on both hands, his throat closing suddenly for no reason he could determine. “Happy to restore it to its owner.”

Astonished, the man’s lips fell open, brows climbing, and he blinked quickly, staring at Dorian’s face. Pushing himself to smile, the _altus_ kept his hands still as the pale-skinned man raised both of his own hesitantly, gazing hungrily at the fur as though he didn’t know if he even _should_ reclaim his property. Strange as it was, the little jerk of his hands backward when Dorian moved it toward him couldn’t be faked. Looking up at him again, he seemed to nerve himself up, and then yanked the fur - not roughly, but eagerly - back into his own hands. A consuming sigh went through him, and he ran his hands over it as though to be sure it was the correct one. An audible hum rose from his throat onto the air, and he clutched it to his chest.

Clearly he was overjoyed to have it back, at least, and Dorian smiled despite himself at the strange southerner. Such a large man, with such a piercing gaze and a strong frame, but he seemed so vulnerable in that moment that the _altus_ almost wanted to step between him and everyone else; shield him from the rest of the crowd. “There you are,” he found himself murmuring comfortingly. “My, but the color suits you.”

Eyes climbing to his face again, the other man stared him right in the eyes - and then blushed, deeply; the color bloomed across his face so violently it was a wonder he didn’t go faint. Despite all his recent, careful vows, Dorian wanted to cast aside all principle and whisk this gorgeous man off to bed right then and there.

“Th-” Swallowing, the blonde-haired man squeezed his arms around himself, eyes still locked with his. “Thank y-”

 _Crack._ Dorian gasped sharply. Something hard and powerful seemed to grab him at the base of his spine, but for all that, it was gentle; so very soft. It was not unlike a hard, taut chain pulling abruptly against a restraint of the softest leather, already buckled around his body. The other man jerked upright, and stepped away from him, backwards. His mouth moved silently, and it looked like the word _no_ , but there was such uncertainty in his eyes that the _altus_ didn’t try to stop him. Before he could say a word, the man turned and fled, parting the crowd like a school of fish through a hole in the reef, and he was gone.

Sorely affected, Dorian grabbed the rail and staggered into it, shaking his head once hard to clear away the strange impression left behind. He looked after the man, but there was nothing to be seen of him. Wistfully, he scanned over the balcony for signs of him, and even looked down to the beach, where a few daring couples were sneaking away to walk along under the moonlight and get a better view of the fireworks. Mesmerizing as they were, he shook it off and went to Maevaris, who had things well in hand as usual, and made his excuses, retiring early.

His dreams were strange but dim, and he attributed the gentle rocking sensation he felt when he woke to the unaccustomed sea air through his open window. It was still quite early, considering most of the party guests who had remained at the resort overnight - many had gone home to the mainland on private boats despite the late hours - would likely be waking at noon.

The sun was still fresh and filtered through the clouds, leaving the tile underfoot almost cool still. It would warm quickly enough that he went ahead and strapped on his casual sandals regardless, beneath rolled-up sleeves and white linen trousers tight-fitted to the knee but breezy through the thigh. Dorian nabbed a pastry and a cup of coffee from the early staff and enjoyed them on the large balcony outside, then meandered down the steps to traipse through the sand before anyone took it in mind to disturb his solitude.

Cellular service to the island was limited, and honestly, he intended to blame it for not answering any incoming calls for the duration of his stay. Left the damn thing in his room, as a matter of fact; he contemplated changing his number again without telling his family, and making the excuse that it’d fallen into the sea and needed to be replaced when he was confronted. They’d hardly buy it, but the peace might be worth the nagging. And Livia… well, Livia knew how a fucking email worked.

A long, mournful sound broke his reverie, and he looked up from the furrows he was kicking in the sand, hands stuck in his pockets. It was soft like the cooing of a dove, but stronger, and higher-pitched. Surprised, he scanned the empty beach, not finding - 

_There_ , he paused, feet apart, and shaded his eyes from the glare off the criminally blue waters. A small round shape; light fur mottled silver gray and honey, and with the wash of the surf, a beautiful adult male seal washed in on the tide. He made an almost eager chirping noise, and perched himself upright on his front flippers.

Breath caught, Dorian froze in place, watching him. He was staring directly at the dark-skinned _altus_ , and as he watched, the delightful creature rolled over onto his back, flicked his tail, and rolled the rest of the way back onto his stomach with a fresh crust of white sand dulling the glistening sheen on his fur. “Aren’t you marvellous,” he breathed, dropping his hand slowly, and lowering himself down onto the sand, doing his best to look non-threatening. Hopefully he succeeded; the last thing he needed was a male seal in breeding season to decide peacocks weren’t welcome in his territory. Or were delicious. “What are you doing out here all alone, beautiful?”

A sound halfway between a high-pitched trill and a purr emerged, and the seal pulled his head back toward his round, bullet-shaped body. From this perspective, he looked for all the world like a round little ball, and Dorian laughed breathlessly. Very timidly, the seal unwound itself, and pushed with its front flippers, bouncing closer to him in an ungainly but ground-eating stride.

“Oh _venhedis_ ,” he muttered, remembering all the conservation society’s lectures on the dangers of wild seals and their powerful jaws. “Please don’t be coming over here to show me who is boss,” he prayed softly. The seal paused, bobbing his head, and flopped over again like a little pastry roll being pressed. Then he sort of barked, or chirped imperatively, in Dorian’s direction, but he did not show his teeth. “Are you flirting with me, you magnificent beast?” the _altus_ called gently to him, in his most soothing voice. “Has my reputation spread even under the waves, hmm? Now handsome men of all species are coming to my door?”

A playful-sounding snort, and the tawny-gray seal was upright again, shaking its head. It managed to turn itself around on its ungainly front limbs, and bobbed a few paces back toward the water. Looking back over its shoulder, somehow, it chirped at him again. They stared at one another, and the seal edged toward the water. Chirped. A single bounce forward, then looking back at him.

“Oh, so we’re going to _your_ place, is it? So pushy,” he murmured, rolling forward onto his knees and standing with slow caution. “Though I do love a man who knows what he wants and isn’t shy about it.” Dorian advanced a few very slow steps. “You know that I cannot breathe in your realm, don’t you?”

Later on, he couldn’t truly explain how he’d divined the thing’s intentions, but once it was sure Dorian understood to follow, it met his eyes again, allowing him to get closer. A warning hum vibrated in its chest when he got within about two meters, but as soon as he heard it, he lowered himself to one knee carefully, and was permitted to stay, just shy of the edge of the surf. The seal turned his body slightly and looked him in the face for a long moment, and that was when he noticed the golden eyes; the white mark on his lip. “You’re the one from yesterday,” he said softly, and though he meant the one who had looked through the camera, his thoughts strayed toward the anxious man and the fur. “You’re more stunning than I remember.”

Warbling in what sounded like unmitigated pleasure, the seal blinked his large eyes in a slow, languid way, and they glistened with natural lubrication. Suddenly he raised his head, swinging his neck toward an outcropping of rock just down the beach. His neck arched longer and sleeker as he did, and he barked a firm sound in its direction. Dorian cast his eyes that way; the rocky tower stood several building stories tall, and boasted a natural land bridge back to a ridge of rock. It had formed a sort of arch over time, but inside the outlying rock, he remembered, was a small, deep pool between the layers of rock. The seal looked to him, cooed, and then barked at the rock again.

“I must be a madman,” Dorian remarked under his breath, and rose gently to his feet, shaking sand from his trousers. Before he could overthink it, he lowered his carefully open-palmed hands to his sides, and began to walk slowly and carefully down the shore. When he glanced back the first time, the seal was watching him. The second time, he was alone on the sand. _I’ll never see such a thing again,_ he mused with unaccustomed sadness. Once he reached the outcropping, he climbed carefully over the shallow rocky protrusions half buried in sand, and slipped through what seemed a mere crack in the rocks - firmly off limits to visitors, of course.

The space between the rocks opened up, and the sun glanced haltingly across the upper levels of the open chimney, making the tallest section of the gnarled brownish rocks glow. The light reflected all the way down, and out through the far end of the space, a jagged narrow opening showed a view of the brightening morning sea. It was worth the trip down, for nothing else, and Dorian lowered himself onto a flat rock at the edge of the clear pool, breathing in air just cool enough to give him a shiver so early in the day.

Long after he’d stopped expecting anything, a small spray of water at the surface caught his attention. A tail - the bob of a rounded, earless head, and then nothing. Still, he yearned forward, staring at the light and holding his breath. A dark shape entered the mouth of the inlet, and there was a sudden stirring, a tossing beneath the surface, right where the light glared inside. Dorian stifled an exclamation at the sudden commotion, jolting up onto his knees again, unsure what to do.

A long, pale arm reached out of the water, and tossed a wet fur garment onto one of the flat rocks nearby. Long, pale, and decidedly _masculine_ , at that, though it was quickly withdrawn, and Dorian leaned forward over the pool as the water stilled. A sudden ghostlike shape surged toward him, and hands jerked at his wrist playfully from out of the water. He barely had the chance to take a breath before being pulled right into the temperate seawater.

Plunging into the water was a shock; bubbles and waves clouded his stinging vision, and a weight around his waist sank him quickly toward the bottom of the pool. He recognized the feel of a man’s body against him, and a nose burying into the crook of his neck with a flash of gold through his cracked eyelids. Reflexively, he struggled. _Maker help me, drowning isn’t the way I want to_ -

Reverberating against his chest, he felt as much as heard a deep voice under the water hum a soothing half scale into his skin, and then - Dorian nearly lost what breath his lungs held as an open mouth fastened to the soft flesh of his bare neck, just above the collarbone. Seawater was pushed out from between firm lips, creating a vacuum, and with a hint of teeth, a sweet, shuddery suction was applied. Momentarily, he went limp, chest tight and thoughts hazy against the pressure of the water on his face and the sensation of adoration on his skin. He couldn’t understand why his skin was tingling.

A deep rumble vibrated against his chest; his clothes billowed loosely around him as the water seemed to cut right through to caress his skin. His hand scrambled for purchase as his air ran thin, and he found broad, muscular shoulders, followed them down to wonderfully built biceps, forearms curling around his waist. One hand skated down a broad back, sharp hips, and _oh_ , the thigh that pushed between his own was equally bare.

Startled, aroused, and more than a touch frightened, Dorian felt the air force its way out of his lungs as though cut free by a sword. Tensing and unconsciously digging his fingernails into the man’s back and shoulder, he struggled. The mouth left his neck and sealed over his own, parting his lips with a salty, brine-tasting tongue. Hot air blew into his mouth, and despite what logic and science told him should be true, this air invigorated him.

His body seemed to fill with it like a spring breeze, buzzing and bright; the water was no longer invasive and terrifying, but warm and safe. Hands gripped him, behind his head and pressed wide and flat below the small of his back. They rolled together in the water, ebulliently buoyant, and though he couldn’t see well, he could _feel_ , and the mouth taking his was kissing him, soundly, electrifyingly, tongue playing with his own almost indulgently.

Embarrassed by how _good_ it felt, Dorian didn’t try to open his eyes again. He leaned down into it, now that he was floating on top, and he felt his mouth water against the salt-umami flavor of the seawater kiss. The tongue sliding along his own tasted him back greedily. A thumb stroked his ear, pressed firmly along the bone of his jaw, traced the shape of his lips where they met. He swallowed a deep, eager hum from the other party, and found his own hands smoothing down his bare back. Fingers over his ribs gave him a tickling jolt, and he squirmed them both over again, feeling the mouth pressed to his curve in a smirk. There was a subtle texture against his top lip beneath his spoiled moustache - a place where his pursuer’s lip should be smooth against his own but was not.

One leg hooked around his own and turned them so that Dorian floated on top once again, and with a surge of powerful muscles rippling through his body in a sudden kick, the other man drove them both to break the surface of the water. Even then, he didn’t have to do anything; the body wrapped around his own supported him, treaded water for them both, gliding them both through the water. Lips parting only long enough to gasp for air, Dorian felt the other man’s mouth take his once more immediately, tongue diving straight in to resume its previous conquest.

Fingers threading through sodden curls and around the flexing muscle of a strong shoulder, Dorian felt his body being moved backward until he was pressed against the rock, a surprised little _oomph_ knocked loose from his throat. The seawater was still in his eyes and he was still dizzy, panting against the lips on his to regain his breath, a little nip drawing a sharp moan from deep in his belly.

For a long, long moment, he melted into the sensation of being kissed within an inch of his life, almost literally, and having a strong pair of hips and a hard cock grind him against the rock wall. _Too fucking long_ , he thought. He knew he should feel disturbed, even offended, but the hands smoothing up over his chest and pinning his shoulders against the wall were gentle, the kisses playful and thirsty but lazy, and his whole body felt hotly flushed under the attention, bucking as thumbs encountered his nipples and rubbed wet fabric against them gently under the surface of the water.

Most men never touched him like this, didn’t even care that his nipples were so sensitive he could be driven almost over the edge by this alone. Most didn’t handle him with this strange mix of surety and serenity, utterly without threat. He was surprised when the hands on his chest were abruptly stripping him of his shirt, dragging it up over his head, getting more salty water into his eyes with their movements. The water felt so good, and the rolling arch of the body against his own felt splendid; Dorian breathed out a shaky sigh on his partner’s bare shoulder.

What if… what if this were someone who - he felt hands diving into his waistband, pushing his trousers down, stripping him down and leaving his cock bobbing freely into the water. Fingers cupped his arse, curling around the cheeks and gripping him just hard enough to send a fizzling rush of anticipation through him. Dorian raised one hand and flicked it free of as much seawater as he could when the man’s mouth moved down to lick and nip at his neck and shoulders. Hard flesh floated next to his erection beneath the water, teasing, tickling him, and then a powerful roll of hips drove them to rub against one another again.

He gripped the man’s shoulders with all his fingernails impulsively, feeling his body shudder despite the poor lubrication of seawater at the friction. Reaching up with his free hand between thrusts, he rubbed as much of the seawater out of his lashes as he could, the stinging summoning tears to help disperse the rest. Golden hair, and pale skin, and when he pushed gently, the kisses stopped and the other man pulled away. He couldn’t even say he was shocked - it wasn’t logical, but somehow his mind readily accepted the face of the golden-eyed man with the scar who gazed at him.

Expression relaxed and smiling, he offered a tiny curve of the scarred side of his lip somewhere between teasing and smug, and his eyes were half-lidded and lustful. “You - _nngh, haa_ ,” Dorian groaned and gasped when one of the stranger’s legs rose and hooked his own, rolling against his hips again. “ _Oh Maker_ ,” he whispered, but it was into that scarred mouth because he seemed to be such an expert at taking advantage of a man’s parted lips when his defenses were down. A musical sound of encouragement and wanton pleasure was breathed into his mouth again.

 _Not an altus,_ Dorian told himself, his arms automatically wrapping around his shoulders, feeling dizzy with his breath stolen yet again, and his surprise lover reaching down to strip his pants off beneath the water, throwing them, and his sandals, up onto the rocks as he’d done with their other garments. _...And not a magister_. He knew them all, and they were the only ones who could truly hurt him socially. Did that mean that, whatever this was, it was a thing he could have?

Speaking subtly against the base of his throat, the other man said his first words since this whole thing began. “ _Pretty_ ,” he breathed, groaning quietly as they rocked together under the water. “So pretty. So _kind_ ,” he added in a voice that was even deeper than he remembered from last night. Startled, Dorian gasped so suddenly he almost swallowed seawater, and felt the hands roaming his thighs and his hip. “Please,” he entreated into Dorian’s ear, a breath that made his own body rock back into the friction between him, drawing a raw moan from the other man’s imperfect lips.

Small kisses lined his jaw, his chin, the corners of his mouth, even his moustache, which almost made him want to laugh. Meanwhile, under the water, the other man grabbed Dorian’s hand firmly and guided it back behind his own back. Following the cue, he grasped the muscular curve of his rear, drawing him in. As he did, however, the golden man lifted his legs effortlessly in the water, powerful thighs curling upward toward his chest and bracing against the rock wall after wrapping around his hips. Warm and inviting, he spread himself as open as possible.

“In the water, we can’t -” Dorian tried to object, knowing how unsafe it was, but he was interrupted by the shaking of damp curls, slowly drying above the surface.

“ _Yes_ , please,” he said, eliciting another kiss, and reaching back behind himself. “Need this, need you,” he added, tongue flickering along Dorian’s lower lip. “If you want me.” He felt the man’s fingers push his hand lower, and despite his better judgment, he found his fingertips tracing the rim of his entrance. Keening in his ear like a radio on low, the Fereldan man rocked his hips toward his fingers, breaching himself and sinking the _altus’_ first finger to the second knuckle. Dorian knew he had used no magic - neither of them had - but somehow the inside of his body was slick, a thick substance coating him like a heavy sort of gel. He withdrew his fingers and rubbed them, but the substance merely spread across his fingertips unless he vigorously tried to wash it away. “ _Again_ ,” he demanded impatiently.

Fascinated and disbelieving, he reached down and slipped his finger inside. The clutch of that inner ring of muscles was thoroughly familiar and sent a fresh wash of heat through his belly. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, turning his mouth into the one that sought to kiss him again. Pushing his tongue inside, he relished the movements of the man rocking on and off of his finger with a flex of his thighs, shins braced on the rock.

Too quickly, he pushed a second finger inside, and earned another moan that shifted up and down the scale quickly in the quiet little cavern, both fingers sliding far more easily than they should under seawater. Somehow he had managed to lift Dorian off the rock enough that a little squirming renewed his friction against the _altus_ ’ stomach, though kissing was harder, and he buried his face in the Tevinter man’s hair instead. Spreading his fingers, he found the stretch easy, and pushed his first two digits in deeply, seeking the familiar anatomy that he knew should bring a man to his knees. A little cry was uttered into his scalp, arms now curling around _his_ shoulders, fingers pressing Dorian’s face into his neck.

“Maker, look at you,” he mumbled, lips muffled into his skin, letting his tongue lap a wide, salty path over his flesh, looking for the taste of _him_ under all that seawater. “If _He_ sent you to me in answer to my prayers, I’ll never miss another day of Chantry in my life.” Kisses, bites - he was flushed pink as Dorian worked him with three fingers, stretching him wide and growling into his collarbone as his partner threw his head back. “Want you, _fuck_ \- want to be inside you, please.”

“Yes,” he uttered back hastily, intense but untroubled. “ _Yes_ , that is what I want, _now_ , please.” It was demanding and adorable. Dorian grabbed his hip and lowered him, positioning himself. _Stupid, this won’t work_ , he knew, but he couldn’t think, and his companion seemed so sure. The warm, taut muscle between his cheeks took the tip of the _altus_ ’ cock easily, and he reached that hand up so that both hands could push his hips down, ever so slowly.

Sharp pants against his ear as they sank together under the water. The sea should have leached them of lubricant, should have stopped them in their tracks, but no - inside, this man was slick and hot, the thick, seemingly-natural substance more than sufficient to aid them in a slow glide. Small whining pants landed in his ear, and Dorian murmured softly to him. “Does it hurt, hm? Should I go slower?” He felt the larger man shaking his head anxiously. “Does it feel good? Burns a little, yes?” A slow, tiny nod. “So sweet; it feels better soon, _ah_ ,” he exhaled, hard and throbbing and full of madness as heat filled him, relishing the roughness of golden-brown stubble against his cheekbone as he turned his head. Adjusting their position meant their faces were closer again. “May I kiss you again?”

Warm humming in assent, and then their lips were locked, just feeling the weight of their mouths. His hands were a bit cruel, gripping him and forcing that tight passage down toward the base of his cock, spurred by a rolling moan in the other man’s chest, his hips bucking with involuntary little gasps against his mouth. Tongues flickered but remained separate; he liked it, the feeling of warm life in his arms, the presence of this beautiful stranger, both of them focused on below the water, but just being part of one another’s breath above the little waves in the pool.

Dropping his head back against the wall, he caught his breath. His partner squeezed down around him with his internal muscles, and the fire in his belly burned hotter, his balls tight and tense. He needed to breathe through it, or he would - “Dorian,” he blurted in a strangled voice, hands loosening, then curling around his hip bones at another spot. Ridiculous to introduce yourself to a man you were already inside of. “My name is Dorian.”

Pulling back from him just a little, the lighter-skinned man smiled, an expression of helpless warmth. Licking his lips, he pushed against the rock wall a little, slipping off of him partway. A little gasp was wrenched from him at the sudden movement, he wasn’t _ready_ , and he thought his lover was still adjusting. Reversing course, this powerful man bit his bottom lip and slid slowly down onto Dorian’s cock, clenching him so hard it sent his eyes rolling upward behind his closed eyelids slightly. He felt amazing inside, and it drove the breath from his lungs so hard he didn’t even have the voice to cry for mercy.

“Cullen,” he said, and it was a sound he sang more than spoke. It was formed of the seal’s mournful keen and the tiny treble of joy in the middle, ending firmly on the tongue. “I am Cullen, and I am _yours_.”

“Maker save my soul,” Dorian rumbled low in his chest, and his hands lifted the other man’s hips, sliding out of him, and then pulled him down again, firm but gentle. Hips were already grinding down on him, and he bucked upward reflexively in response, getting that extra little inch as he enjoyed the flex of muscles against him, arms around his neck. Repeating the motion, he let himself feel it all, the lightness of their bodies in the water, the way the clench of his muscles on engorged flesh made him feel bigger inside of his partner, the way his heartbeat echoed through his chest, from his fingertips and down through his frame all the way into his partner’s body.

Within a few rolls of his hips, he could feel the pale-skinned man loosening up, and he turned them easily in the water, pressing him to the rock wall instead. Catching his hands under the other man’s knees, he traced his thumbs against the sensitive skin in the vulnerable flesh between thigh and calf and lifted his legs further. He moved his hips, thrusting toward him, but the water thwarted his momentum. Rough laughter filled the air at his look of consternation, as if he’d done something cute and amusing, like a puppy tripping over its own ears.

Slipping off of him, Cullen dove under the water and grabbed him by the waist, lifting him slightly toward another side of the pool. He was pressed against a low rock, and leaned back, hooking his elbows back, his lower half submerged. The golden-haired man swam up his body, palms on either side of his own as he lifted himself half-out for another kiss, body gliding up along his own. Wrapping his breathtaking thighs around Dorian’s hips again, his weight bore his lower half down into the water. “Rocks,” he licked the _altus_ ’ throat, nudging his chin up. “Under your feet.”

Spreading his legs down below, Dorian sought the outcroppings of rock with his toes, having to arch his entire body on his feet and elbows like a curved bridge, but _Maker_ , the moment Cullen settled down on his cock again, it was so worth it. Rolling his entire body, he rocked up inside of him, hearing a satisfied little keening noise bubble low in his throat.

This close to the surface, they broke the relatively still waters of the pool into choppy little waves, moving together cautiously at first, and then with greater abandon. Even with this wonderful slick inside him, there was still friction of skin on skin, and pressure, and somehow Cullen freed one hand, stroking his wide-open palm down his chest, stopping to tease and pull at his nipples, sending shooting sparks of pleasure down into his abdomen and making him shout.

Rolling his head back, he felt the strong-fingered hand on his chest reverse course, winding its way upward and stroking up his open throat. A small purring trill emerged from the other man, haunting and inhuman, but evocative and appreciative. Dorian normally didn’t let just any man handle him by the throat, but this time - oh, let him have it, his body sang, producing a sound that was half sigh, and half moan. _What a way to go,_ if it was his time.

Bracing both hands again, Cullen adjusted his angle, leaning back slightly, his toes somehow finding purchase against the rock face once again, and with it, he slammed back down into his partner. Dorian raised his head and opened his eyes partway. He was flushed, pink from his cheeks down his neck, even down to his chest, and as he watched, the other man’s back arched, pushing his chest forward and his head back. Pale lashes rested damply on his cheeks, lost in himself as the _altus_ drove up into him with all the force he could muster.

He’d found the angle, clearly; each thrust brought out a little jerk from his lover as they connected. Dorian wanted to get hands on him, wished he could touch, do all the little things he wanted to - touch his face, toy with the sensitive skin behind his ears, pull his charming curls a little. He would have liked to spend a good quarter hour just fingering him open before this, and Maker, his _cock_ \- it was peeking just out of the water, flushed and proud, and he licked his lips wanting it.

Without being able to do all those things, the process was slower than it could have been, but there had been an intense energy between them from the moment he’d pulled Dorian underwater. Each movement of the other man’s body around his spread an overwhelming warmth deeper and deeper into his core, searing his skin and melting his muscles, making him jerk and shiver each time the other man clenched around him, like he was dancing over his body. Before long, the paler man’s eyes were open, all pupil and dark like the images he’d seen of the majority of the seals all along the beach yesterday. He gazed down at Dorian intently, unafraid, looking him right into the eyes almost without blinking.

 _Fuck_ , he thought the word vehemently, astonished at how piercing, how arresting it was. Normally a man he bedded rarely made eye contact; they would likely not meet again, not consent to be seen together. Cullen looked down into him right through all his borders, as though he wanted to know him inside and out. Dorian felt so starkly _seen_ ; his breath seized in his chest.

“Cullen,” he whispered, seeing a slight narrowing of his eyes, a hint of pleasure at the sound of his name. Dorian adjusted his elbows with a wince, let his back take some of the weight. Rocks dug into his spine, but not enough to diminish the build of pleasure deep in the pit of his stomach, fire building from his lips to his toes. An echo of molten want and heat spilled back through him, cramping his belly in excitement.

Managing to get one hand free, he was able to grasp the other man’s length, thumb smoothing over the head of his cock. Whimpering, the Fereldan man closed his eyes and arched into his hand, breathing raggedly in their quiet hideaway. The sounds of his breath echoing from the walls. Pushing his hand down the flushed shaft, he delighted in the little cry the first stroke earned, the extra little spring in his hips.

“Please, _please_ , I can’t, _mmmhha_ ,” his last helpless noise devolved into a string of little moans breaking up his helpless panting. Dorian felt those little cries deep in his chest, excitement bubbling in his stomach, and in the midst of his firm strokes, he curled his fingers and twisted his wrist hard, just so.

With a surprisingly deep moan of completion, the man whose flesh surrounded him clamped down on him hard, flutters of pleasure spasming around him in waves. “ _Kaffas_ , Cullen, you -” he pushed into him hard, revelling in the grasp of his body as it hit its peak. Moaning as his head fell back, he felt a white-hot crest of pleasure working up from the base of his spine, through his balls, and spilling into the other man’s body, arching upward until he had nothing to release.

Weakly, he fell back against the wall, slipping out of his lover below the water, and then slipping off the wall as well. He tried to hold his weight on his feet as he had been doing, but his thighs were trembling, and Cullen weighed him down. His head slipped under the water, but before anything truly alarming could happen, strong arms found him and hauled him up, easing him up onto the dry rock shelf. The sound of a wet body hitting the rock beside him as he coughed and spluttered assured him that his companion was in reasonable condition as well.

“Yup, never being that careless again,” he wheezed. But still, it had been a remarkable experience, and he found himself sighing in exhausted, heavy bliss into his forearm. Hands touched his back, smoothing across the sore stripe where the rock wall had rubbed him raw. A little sad sound emerged, and then a gentle, insistent tongue licked all along the sore area. It clearly wasn’t much of an ameliorative measure, but it didn’t hurt, so he allowed it.

After some time had passed, he had caught his breath. His gut was still sore - his entire body was aching, pleasantly really - but he wanted answers. Hearing a splash, Dorian opened his eyes and turned over. His companion had leapt into the pool and come up on the other side, gathering his fur coat and Dorian’s garments together so that they would not be misplaced. He walked around the pool, mercifully, this time, and laid them all out flat. Dorian would dry them momentarily with magic, but it didn’t matter for right now.

Dropping to his knees, Cullen crouched over him, his back curved, his face still flushed and smiling, and he laid a featherlight kiss against Dorian’s mouth. Despite how unwise it was, he could not stop himself from returning it. “Hello, Husband,” he murmured, with a deep purr under his words.

Unprepared for the sudden declaration, the _altus_ blinked up at him. “W-what?”

“I brought you something.” Pulling one hand from behind his back, he picked up the hand closest to him, Dorian’s left, and pushed a smooth gold ring onto it. Blinking down, Dorian fanned out his fingers instinctively, baffled. “So your people also know that we are married.” He was so proud of himself, and Dorian fell back against the rock. “This is how you do it, right?”

“I… I don’t understand,” Dorian whispered, eyes wide.

“You found my fur,” Cullen ran fingers back through his hair gently, and pressed a kiss to the mark next to his eye tenderly. “...and that makes me yours,” he breathed. “Then you gave it _back_ ,” he smiled brilliantly as he pulled away. “And _that_ is the reason why I _want_ to be.”

“Cullen, I…” Dorian swallowed, helplessly searching for words.

One fingertip ran down over the bridge of his nose. “You have gray eyes the color of my people,” he smiled, lines crinkling gently next to his own. “And fine whiskers like us!” he laughed when the _altus_ snorted at the absurd comparison. “My husband is pretty; I am _so lucky_.”


End file.
